


White Flag

by slothprincess



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Crack Relationships, Hate Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-28
Updated: 2017-09-28
Packaged: 2019-01-06 08:38:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12207681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slothprincess/pseuds/slothprincess
Summary: They will go down with this ship.





	White Flag

**Author's Note:**

> I’m going to be honest, I only wrote this because of the level 4 pun I could make with the title/description

“Isn’t that what you do?” Rodimus spat, “Sleep with people until you get what you want?”

Getaway snorted, “I’m pretty sure that would require you having something I would want in the first place.”

“The Lost Light is _my_ ship and you know it!” Rodimus cried, pounding an emphatic fist against the desk after each word. A bit melodramatic, but he’d discovered a little dash of Rodimus charm went a long way when it came to intimating his foes. And Getaway was among the worst of them. Little weasel.

Getaway inspected his nails, “I believe you mean Megatron’s ship? I mean he seemed to do all the actual, well, leading.” He raised an unimpressed optic, “Oh! Unless you’re counting yourself as captain of wasting everybody's damned time. You aren’t, are you?”

Rodimus snarled, mouth agape with outrage. How dare he? He was captain first! Well technically second. Maybe third? How was he supposed to know, it’s not like he’d done an extensive history check. The point was it was a _used_ vehicle. It had previous owners. The point was, also, if Getaway didn’t stop bringing up Megatron he’d be known as ‘Didn’tgetaway’. No. Getcaught? Notaway?

Rodimus groaned. All of those were lamer than the last. He was so not on game today. Whatever! He’d have plenty of time to create sweet killer take-downs soon enough. Like when he’d ripped the steering wheels out of Getaway’s cold, clammy servos and was commandeering the Lost Light through the Baten Nine Comet Belt. 

He blinked. Wait, could you commandeer your own ship? Technically he was the owner. He’d have to find a way to ask Magnus… without sounding too interested in intergalactic travel law. That was a 7 orn lecture in waiting. Predictably with slides. Maybe he could convince Drift to do it? He liked that nerdy stuff. Wait, was Getaway still talking?

“The ridiculous schemes, the blatant disregard for crew safety, Hell, the Rodimus Stars, I could handle,” Getaway continued, blissfully unaware of Rodimus’ momentary departure, “But you handed direct control of this ship over to that—that tyrant! How many deaths has he been responsible for? How many of your brothers and friends has he directly snuffed out, Rodimus? You can cling to your pathetic ‘co-captain’ title all you want, but the second he boarded this ship, your position was nothing but show. Useless! You’re just some sparkling playing at captain leaving everyone else to do all the real work.” 

“What? That isn’t fair!” Rodimus cried, “Optimus made me bring him I didn’t have a choice. Never did.” If Getaway was going to drag him it might as well be choices he had actually made. 

“What’s it matter, anyway? He’s gone now. Showed his true colors,” Rodimus said bitterly, “You were right, nothing’s changed.”

Getaway rolled his optics, “Of course, I’m right. It’s not exactly difficult when you’re shit-talking a genocidal warlord.”

The air between them crackled with an electric intensity. No doubt had Drift been there, he’d have described the aura as negatively charged and attempted a cleansing ritual. Rodimus just found it infuriating. Getaway’s dumpster fire excuse of a personality.  His smug little face with his smug little grin. And the way the emergency lights shone off his armature, emphasizing curved hips and gleaming plates. Infuriating all of it.

“I really do _hate_ you,” he snarled, mashing his lips against Getaway’s faceplate.Who said romance was dead?

“The feeling is mutual,” Getaway sneered, prying off his plate and flinging it away. It landed with a hefty clang as they lunged at each other, servos raking armor in unbridled animalistic lust. 

There was something about an argument that always got Rodimus hot under the collar. All the yelling drug fiery passion to the surface until it bubbled over into want. Once he’d made the mistake of telling Drift about this particular turn-on and since had never lived it down. After every cross word with Megatron, Drift would inevitably pop up, optics wide as saucers staring. He’d never say anything, but Rodimus could see the question in his optics. You and Megatron? Like Pit he’d ever bed old man Megs. Gross! Who wanted Optimus’ sloppy seconds? The thought alone was almost enough to put him off.

Instead Rodimus fell into the Captain’s chair, dragging Getaway along with him in a tangle of legs and limbs. Getaway squirmed in his lap. 

“Still pretending you’re in charge here?” He asked, digging a knee into Rodimus’ inner thigh, “Or do you want me to show you real leadership?”

Rodimus' optics almost rolled out of his head. Was this what it was like dealing with himself? A constant barrage of smart ass one-liners and obnoxious retorts coupled with childish insult. It was a wonder half the crew hadn’t mutinied earlier. Getaway’s knee chose that moment to dig in even deeper.

“If you don’t stop digging your knee into my spleen, you’re going to find my boot up your aft,” Rodimus snapped, almost uprooting the traitorous frame.

Getaway grinned suggestively, “I’d rather have a different part of you in me.” Rodimus nearly choked and this time Getaway had to scramble to prevent himself from sliding off.

“Why are you actively the worst?” Rodimus whined, flipping Getaway around in his lap, securing him tightly. That might have been the worst line he’d ever heard. And he’d seen Swerve drunk. Getaway was such a tool.

Getaway found his balance, straddling Rodimus’ leg with a contemptuous smirk, panel chafing Rodimus’ thigh. Rodimus was suddenly keenly aware of the heat radiating from the panel. His own spike pressurized, bulging at the seams, throbbing and broiling with want against it’s seal. Condensation slid down his cheeks, evaporating into steaming trails. OK, so they were really doing this.

Getaway, meanwhile, ground down harder rubbing his panel against him. Leaky transfluid seeped through his panel dribbling down his leg and inner thighs in sticky clumps, their shared heat causing it to sizzle and steam. Rodimus panted, relinquishing control of his own spike. It sprang out with a heady anticipation pressurized and raring to go.

If that’s how Getaway wanted it, he’d play ball. Rodimus jostled his leg. Raising and lowering it to a deft rhythm, each peak grinding into Getaway’s apex with an increasingly satisfying friction. Getaway inhaled sharply with each bumpy grind, servos clenched

“I really do loathe you,”he gasped, shuttering his optics, as his own panel retracted, revealing his valve, a velvety navy with winking biolights.

“You better be as good at this as you think you are,” he said.

And then with aplomb he raised himself, slowly working himself down Rodimus’ spike in short aborted motions, groaning with pleasure. Once settled Rodimus gave a small buck. The texture was incredible; firm yet pliant. With the sheer amount of frametypes and possible mods finding a compatible partner could be potentially difficult. As loathe as he was to admit it their similar vehicle modes probably lent itself to their compatibility. After all there was reason similar alt modes tended to pair off.

“That all you got, _Captain_?”

“Don’t think I won’t gag you!” Rodimus snapped, funneling his anger into a particularly rough thrust. _Captain._ He knew that was more likely than not sarcasm but, Primus, that got him hot. He had a kink for titles three galaxies wide and Getaway was pushing every single button. Manipulative prick.

“Whatever you say, Sir~!” Getaway giggled, lolling his head back. Rodimus took that as signal to continue plowing, mouthing hot trails down Getaway’s neck.

“Mmm, just like that,” Getaway murmured, arching his back.

A quiet clicking sound echoed through the Captain’s command center. Getaway froze, optics wide in disbelief,“You didn’t lock the door?”

Rodimus groaned, barely lifting his helm, “What? Why would I have locked the door? It’s not like I came in here with the intention of boning you, my one true nemesis.”

Getway’s lips turned up in a cat-like grin, distracted, “You think I’m your nemesis?” 

“S-shut up!”

The door slid open. In one swift movement Rodimus shoved Getaway off his lap, dropping him to the ground with a heavy thud (“Rodimus, you ass!”) before closing his panel discreetly, and propping his legs up on the control panel.

“Magnus!” He beamed, adopting his best heroic voice, “I see you’ve come just in time to witness me putting this traitor in his place! My pedes!” He released a hearty guffaw, ignoring Getaway’s withering glare and middle finger.

Ultra Magnus, poor, eternally-suffering Magnus, sighed in tired resignation, “Rodimus, you had Rewind broadcast your meeting to the whole crew, you wanted to, and I quote, ‘Show everyone how a true leader takes care of business’.” Rodimus’ pedes slipped off the control panel. Ultra Magnus’ face was stony, his eyes carefully unfocused. He was going to have to get Magnus a hell lot more than a desk caddy to make up for this. Not even new and improved Dust Blaster(with 7 all new dirt blasting accessories) bad.This was whole new organizational system bad. And if Getaway was laughing, Rodimus certainly didn’t notice.

 


End file.
